by Trina Lane
Clay spread Logan’s cheeks and a sudden coldness had him arching back with a cry. Two of Clay’s fingers breached his hole, and another smack landed on the lower curve where his ass met his thighs. Clay’s fingers pumped inside him as more slaps landed on the burning flesh of his rear.
He was going to lose it. It was only a matter of minutes. Make that seconds! He prayed for mercy when Clay’s fingers found his prostate, nailing the gland. Another finger slid inside, and Clay scissored his fingers within the confines of Logan’s body.
“Clay!”
The fingers left his body and emptiness prevailed until Logan felt the head of Clay’s cock press against his opening. The thick tool plunged deep with one thrust. Clay had claimed him. Logan had never been a good bottom before, always preferring the dominant role with his lovers. However, he’d come to not only love the feel of Clay inside him, but crave it. He craved the closeness, the completion, the overwhelming sense of tranquillity he experienced when Clay took control of his pleasure. His everyday world was such a jumble of partial sounds and frustration that every little moment of peace in Clay’s arms became crucial to maintaining control of his sanity.
Clay’s hips pummelled him as they pumped deep. Over and over. Clay’s balls slapped against Logan’s ass. The long, thick cock repeatedly slid across his prostate when Clay changed the angle of his thrusts. Strong hands gripped Logan’s shoulders for leverage, fingers digging into the soft tissue on the opposite side.
The stimulation was too much, and Logan cried out as an orgasm barrelled through him, rising from the depths of his soul. He screamed Clay’s name as his cock exploded, soaking the seat beneath him with jets of cream. His grip on the frame of the bench so tight his nails left scratches in the paint. Clay’s cock continued to fuck him relentlessly, each thrust feeding Logan’s climax, until with one final shove, Clay froze, and Logan heard his name being screamed as Clay erupted. The hot seed from his love filled him, soothing the ache of his expertly used tissues.
Logan felt Clay collapse against him. The damp skin of Clay’s chest met the still spasming muscles of his back. His cock quivered, and the pressure of the bench became uncomfortable.
“Umm, Clay? Can you…?”
“Sorry, honey.” Clay quickly sat up and removed Logan’s blindfold.
Logan pressed against the bench so he could stand, but his legs had the consistency of Jell-O, and his knees buckled. Clay caught him before he ended up doing damage to his nether bits on the equipment. Clay’s strong arms surrounded him from behind, and his head lolled on Clay’s broad shoulder.
“I’d say we both need a shower. Wanna get wet with me?” Clay asked.
Logan nodded. “Then bed? I’m done in for the day.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He turned and kissed Clay. Their lips lingered as they held each other. All was right in Logan’s world when Clay kissed him, and he clung to his lover seeking the solace Clay’s love provided.
Chapter Ten
Logan looked at the calendar with some sense of shock. He couldn’t believe how fast the last year had gone. Today was the one year anniversary of his implant surgery. Aside from Clay, the processors were his constant companions. After his discharge, he’d become a shell of a man, angry, anxious and easily driven to panic induced flashbacks. Today, he smiled easily, and the once forgotten sound of his laughter brightened each day. He slept snug in the arms of his love each night, and the passion they shared only grew stronger with each day. His hearing would never be normal, never be what it was, but the surgery had without a doubt given him the freedom to move forward with his life. He loved his work at the crime lab. Doing his part to put away scum that terrorised and destroyed other’s lives was challenging and fulfilled a sense of purpose he’d never thought to regain after leaving the Rangers.
He sat at the microscope, humming a little ditty when out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the CSIs run past the plate-glass wall of his room.
Wonder what that’s all about?
He shrugged and went back to examining tool marks on a mould from a victim’s cause of death injury, trying to recognise any minute detail that would help him identify the weapon. Another officer, this one a lieutenant from district C-6 he’d met a few months ago at Clay’s office, ran past in the same direction.
Okay, that’s a bit odd.
Granted, crazy stuff happened around him all the time, but those pounding feet had different feel. He scooted away from the work table and went to the opening in the glass wall of his area. He poked his head out and caught Trevor’s eyes across the hall in the audio/video lab.
“What up?” he asked.
“Not sure. Think we should check it out?”
“Nah. I’m sure if the building was on fire they’d tell us—they would tell us, right?” he added, smiling.
“Sure, they would. Right after everyone stood outside in the freezing cold and wondered where ‘those two guys’ were. Of course, by then, we’d be a couple of crispy critters.”
“Right… So what you’re saying is we’re on our own.”
“Pretty much. Don’t worry, buddy, I won’t let you fry.”
“Ah Trev, it gives me all kinds of warm fuzzies to know you care.”
“Shud up!”
Logan stuck his tongue out at the quirky kid who was a genius with anything electronic but was perpetually unlucky in love. He hoped someone soon would recognise how sweet and giving Trevor was beneath his quiet intelligent exterior. Logan knew the other man was also gay. Trev was pretty quiet about it, but Logan had asked when he caught Trevor’s eyes glued to the ass of one of the uniformed officers a couple of months ago. In Logan’s opinion, Trevor’s problem was that he always went for the wrong type of guy. Big and beefy with a side of asshole was the smaller man’s main dish. Logan and Clay had batted around ideas for potential setups, but the only man Logan considered a potential match was already taken. Matt had been seeing his boyfriend for about a year. Logan didn’t know much, obviously it wouldn’t be professional of Matt to discuss his personal relationships, but in Logan’s opinion some the sparkle had left Matt’s eyes from when they first met.
He head turned at the sound of running feet, and he flagged down the sprinter heading his direction.
“Hey, Coleman! What’s going on man? What’s with the stampede?”
“Officer down. Some guy managed to get a gun inside the courthouse and is holding a bunch of people hostage.”
“Oh shit! How the hell did that happen?”
“Apparently, the guy had credentials and was able to bypass security. I gotta go, man.”
“Yeah…yeah, go. Do your thing.”
Trevor stood next to him, and Logan’s eyes met his before they sprinted across the hall into Trevor’s domain. Numerous video screens filled the space, and with a couple of quick taps to the keyboard, they had a live video feed to the Moakley Courthouse in the Seaport District. The massive glass and brick structure housed the U.S. Attorney’s office, twenty-seven federal courtrooms and meeting halls used for various lectures. The place was an ever changing art gallery and even offered rentals for parties with full catering services. It was a masterpiece of justice and capitalism.
“Can you get us a view inside?”
Trevor clicked away on the keyboard for a few more seconds as he hacked into the security camera footage.
“You know I could get in deep doo-doo for this?”
“I doubt anyone’s worried about a couple of squints with a birds eye view at the moment. Besides, maybe, we can see something that can help?”
“Mitchell!”
Logan and Trevor spun to see Captain Fredricks standing in the doorway. They both spun around, using their bodies to block the view of the monitors.
“Yes, Captain?” Trevor answered.
“Is that a live video feed from inside the courthouse?”
“Um…”
“If it is, move over. You’re blocking my view!”
&
nbsp; “Yes, Sir!”
Logan stepped aside so the Captain could gather around the monitor with them.
“Can you make this any bigger, Mitchell?”
With a couple of taps the large wall in front of them came to life. Logan watched as Trevor flipped through various camera feeds ‘til he found one that was aimed in the direction of the unfolding action. The situation seemed to be taking place on the third floor inside the atrium. Logan could see the massive concaved glass wall that looked out onto the city skyline and harbour. The black and white images did nothing to dispel the terror on the faces of the hostages, especially with the high-quality resolution and Trevor’s ability to zoom in. The gunman had his arm wrapped around a woman’s neck and a semi-automatic pistol pressed against her head. There were approximately twenty other hostages in the immediate area, all lying in a prone position with their hands splayed on the granite floor.
He could see one officer lying in a pool of blood off the side. His gun inches from his slack hand. Logan couldn’t tell if the officer was dead or merely unconscious from the wound. He turned his gaze to the gunman, recognising the hardened resolve in the man’s eyes. This was no panicked man in an out-of-control situation. The man looked filled with hate and determination. It was an expression Logan was intimately familiar with.
This is not going to end well.
Logan’s fingers itched to text Clay and find out where he was. The courthouse was in his district, and it was very possible his partner could end up in the thick of things. Only two things prevented him from doing so. The first was not wanting to distract Clay if he was onsite, and second, he knew exactly what was happening since he saw it all in live and living colour, so to speak. He saw movement in the shadowed back corner of the balconied hallway. He squinted to identify if this was an additional threat or the good guys coming to the rescue.
Logan gasped as he recognised the familiar shape. Trevor and Fredrick both turned to him with questioning looks.
“That’s Clay.”
“Where?” Trevor exclaimed.
Logan pointed at the wall where he’d seen the movement.
“I don’t see anything,” Fredricks said.
“Wait! There, behind the pillar. Are you sure that’s him? It’s awfully dark in that corner,” Trevor asked.
He nodded his head, unable to speak.
“Who’s Clay?” Fredricks questioned.
“Detective Clayton Phillips, Sir. Logan’s partner”
“Partner? What’s a lab tech doing at an active crime scene?”
“No, Sir, life partner.”
“Oh, well shit.”
Trevor’s fingers played for a few seconds, and suddenly, the image zoomed in. Logan eyes met Clay’s through the video feed. The video was so close that Clay’s image filled the entire wall. His eyes were trained on the gunman. Resolve hardened the gaze Logan had seen soft with love only hours before as they had said goodbye. Clay had his back to the large, white, round pillar. He came around the side with his gun trained on the man holding the woman hostage. Clay made a gesture with his hand, and three other officers crept into the space behind him. Logan’s eyes trained on Clay’s lips as Clay identified himself to the gunman. The image quickly backed up, and they saw the assailant spin around to face Clay and his fellow officers.
Logan couldn’t read the gunman lips, but his body language shouted that he was not happy with the turn of events. As much as Logan wanted to keep an eye on Clay, he knew the gunman held all the clues. He scanned his body language for the telltale signs that all hell would break loose. Tightened muscles, bracing posture. If only Logan could see his eyes, then he’d know. Over there, he’d gotten really good at reading potential targets, and those skills never truly left you.
“What’s happening?” Trevor asked.
Logan trained his eyes on Clay once again. He watched his lover’s lips move and translated, since they didn’t have sound.
“Clay is speaking to the gunman. ‘Put down your weapon. You don’t want to do this…that may be, but this is not the answer…let the woman go. She’s not at fault.’” Logan could tell the gunman was getting agitated. His gun arm raised, and the pistol pressed tighter against the woman’s head. He took his eyes away from the wall for a second and looked at Trevor. His friend caught his gaze, squeezing Logan’s shoulder.
“He’s a good cop, Logan. He knows what he’s doing.”
Logan nodded, and when they looked back at the wall, his eyes widened as a flash of light burst from the gunman’s weapon. Clay stepped out from the side of the pillar, his weapon still trained on the suspect. With a sickening realisation of what was about to happen, and with no power to stop the event from unfolding, Logan watched as the gunman fired a second shot. A dark cloud burst from Clay’s side. His lover got off two rounds, and the gunman stumbled back, dropping the woman before he hit the floor. Clay fell backwards, and a quickly spreading pool of blood spilled out on the hard floor.
Oh God, no! Not again! This can’t be happening again!
Logan blinked, and he was instantly transported back to Afghanistan. He lay in the street cradling Adams’ head. He screamed for another platoon member to come help him. The rat-a-tat-tat sounds of bullets being fired, the splat as the rounds smacked into buildings and thud when they dug into the ground, a far off echo. Red tracers from the thousands of rounds being fired filled the sky around him. However, when Logan looked down it wasn’t Adams’ green eyes staring sightlessly at him. It wasn’t light blond hair matted with the blood from the perfectly concentric hole in his forehead. It was stormy grey eyes and silky black hair. A gut wrenching cry echoed from the depths of Logan’s soul as his hands tried to cover the gapping exit wound, pouring Clay’s life-force into the dirt and covering Logan’s hands. He knelt in the blood-filled street, shouting in denial, begging Clay to wake up, to move, they had to take cover. His breathing became erratic, his head spun and his heart galloped in his chest. Bullets flew through the air and the ground shook from the concussion of explosions surrounding him, but the world was silent. The image wavered as if he were staring into a desert mirage.
No! This is not real! I am not in Afghanistan. I am not being shot at. I am in the AV lab. The image blurred, and there was a weird homogenous blend between reality and the flashback. He saw desert streets and plasma screens. Logan stomped his foot on the ground. This is not dirt and sand; this is tiled linoleum. The surface beneath him smoothed. He took a deep breath and let it out. He did it again, and one more time. The pounding in his head lessened, his hands stopped shaking. That is not the scent of cordite and blood in my nose, that is Trevor’s aftershave. Clay’s dead body is not in my arms. I am home. I am safe. I am loved. I am leaving.
The Afghani desert slowly dissolved and the AV suite of the Boston crime lab took shape. He looked around and noticed a small crowd had gathered. Logan hated crowds. He hated feeling like a freak. He hated being vulnerable. Trevor knelt in front of him, and Logan realised he’d somehow ended up on the floor. His arms were wrapped around his knees, and he groaned as the tight muscles stretched as he uncurled and tried to stand. Trevor helped him up, his friend’s hands supporting him until he was stable on his feet. He looked around the room and saw faces filled with question, sympathy and pity. God, he hated the pity worst. Logan closed his eyes and repeated the words Matt had taught him.
I am Logan Callen, former U.S. Army Ranger. The hell I survived does not control me. I am stronger today than I was yesterday. I will be stronger tomorrow than I am today.
“Logan?”
He heard Trevor’s voice and opened his eyes. He concentrated on that one face. The others in the room didn’t matter. He used Trevor as a fixation point to complete his ground. The world around him came back into focus, and he once again took possession of his body. The heat from the vent above them blew warm air across his skin. He blinked, trying to bring back moisture to his burning eyes. Trevor stood before him, and Logan could tell the younger man was unsure
how to help him. He raised his arm, the limb heavy and disjointed. He squeezed Trevor’s shoulder, giving his thanks without words.
“What do you need, Logan?”
Trevor’s soft light voice floated towards him. He was tired. He wanted to lie down and rest. The flashbacks always sucked him dry.
“Water,” he croaked out.
Trevor looked over his shoulder at Fredrick. “Get him some water, please.” He pulled his chair from beneath the desk and placed it behind Logan. “He went to get your water. Sit down, buddy.”
Logan followed Trevor’s orders as if he were the senior drill sergeant at boot camp. Trevor crouched down in front of him, and placed his hands on the arm of the chair. A bottle of water appeared in front of him, and he accepted it with thanks from the unknown source.
“Logan, are you with us?”
He nodded but didn’t speak.
“Drink your water, give yourself a few moments of quiet then I’ll take you to Clay.”
Clay!
Logan sprang from the chair and headed towards the door to the lab, but he was stopped by set of strong arms wrapped around his waist.
“Let me go!” he shouted. “I have to leave. I have to get to Clay.”
“Time out, Logan.”
The fight left his body, and the buzzing in his brain went silent. He turned his head and realised it was Matt restraining him. ‘Time out’ was their phrase. The one used in sessions when things were getting too intense and he needed a break. It was weird how conditioned he’d become to those words and the solace they provided.
“Good. Now, turn around and look at me,” Matt ordered.
He did and saw Trevor standing a few feet behind them. His gaze was locked on Matt with his jaw hanging open. In the midst of his own personal crisis, Logan almost let out a chuckle.
“Clay is on his way to Boston Medical Centre. We’ll take you in a matter of minutes, but I need to make sure you’re stable.”